


Azeroth High

by Shaymed



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-03-06 05:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13404903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaymed/pseuds/Shaymed
Summary: Here on Earth, there is a school: Azeroth High School. Follow a few students you may recognize from A Lesson in Patience as they deal with typical teenager things, like football, homework, and detention.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE: They are not elves or goblins or anything. These are the characters as typical humans.

The locker room echoed with the raucous voices of the football team. Lockers slammed open and closed as the boys went for the showers. 

“Hey, fuckstick.” 

A thick palm dropped on the white-blond hair atop Koltira’s head. He shoved Grimory’s hand off and smacked the other boy’s bare chest. 

“What, shitwad?”

“Nice play. I seriously thought you were gonna eat shit, man.” Grimory laughed and twisted the knob for water to come spraying over him. 

Koltira stood under the shower head beside the other. He laughed and nodded. “So did I. I think it was worth it, though. Coach Stormrage seemed to like it.”

After their showers, they dried and dressed, getting ready for their morning classes. Grimory held out his hand and Koltira gripped it, then they smacked the other’s shoulder with their free hand. 

“See you in third, man,” Koltira said.

“Later, bro!” Grimory ran up the stairs, shoving past the slowly ascending figure in a red hoodie sweatshirt, the hood pulled up over the back of their head.

The girl flinched behind her black-framed glasses, but said nothing as her books jostled from her arm and onto her feet. 

Koltira rushed up the steps. “Grim! Dick!”

His friend turned, his arms out, as he shrugged and smiled, then raced up the rest of the stairs. 

Koltira stooped to help pick up the books and spilled papers. “Sorry about my fr—”

“Don’t apologize for him. It’s not your fault he’s an ass.”

Koltira’s piercing blue eyes snapped to the pale face under the white hair. His eyes widened the slightest bit at her irises like ice, the pupils a dark red and the sclera a softer tone of red. She blushed a bright scarlet and looked away to organize her things. 

“I said that out lout… I’m s-sorry. He’s y-your f-friend. That was…rude. Heh.” She finished bundling her items and squeezed them to her chest, then raced up the stairs. 

“Wait!” Koltira called, but the five-minute bell drowned him out, and the girl was soon gone.

His younger brother, and a fullback on the team, tapped him on the shoulder and jerked his chin toward where they had homeroom across the hall from each other—Koltira in English and Faltora in mathematics. The younger Deathweaver brother glanced across the hall as they passed a girl at her locker; he blushed and Koltira caught it.

“Just go say hi, dude.”

Faltora squirmed. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Don’t be an idiot! Of course Merriel wants to talk to you!”

“And how do you know that?”

Koltira laughed. “Because, you’re a Deathweaver.”

Faltora rolled his eyes and elbowed his brother. “You’re an idiot. All you ever do is talk big game, bro. When are you gonna man up and actually lead by example?”

“It’s high school. I’m not going to waste my charms for these shallow chicks.”

Faltora smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Pussy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off, kid.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

In third period, Koltira dropped into his seat at the back of the room beside Grimory, who was chewing on a toothpick. It was a habit his ranch friend had, but usually with a piece of straw. 

“Fucking chemistry, man,” Grimory said. 

“Fucking chemistry,” Koltira echoed. He cocked an eyebrow as the strange girl from earlier walked into the room and handed the teacher a note. 

“Mister Silversong.”

Grimory sat up. “Yeah, Mr. Stormrage?”

“Move over there.” Mr. Stormrage, the brother of their coach, pointed on the other side of the room and two rows up, right under the windows.

Grimory scoffed and made noises of protest. “Why’s it gotta be me? I ain’t done nothin’. Kolt’n I been behaving.”

Koltira chuckled as his blond friend’s drawl grew stronger with his irritation. “Your hick is showing.”

Grimory shoved him. “Man, shut up.”

As Grimory slouched across the room, the new girl walked back, turning herself to walk in a strange way that put her back to the windows. Koltira eyed her in her crimson hoodie, black skinny jeans, and red tartan Chucks. She slid in beside him and he automatically straightened from his slouch as though he needed to look like a good student for her. He cleared his throat. 

“I, uh, like your shoes.”

She paused in organizing her things and looked at him, one eye hidden behind her hood and the other half-covered by the thick frames of her glasses. “Um. Thanks? I mean, if you really _do_ like them, I guess. Because you might be just saying that to get me to talk to you and oh, wow. It worked. I’m s-so s-sorr…y…” She went back to her things as Koltira stared at the side of her hood.

“So, you’re new?”

She tittered softly into a black glove covering her fingers. “I didn’t freak you out? I guess that’s a good sign.”

“I’ve seen some shit,” he said as though challenging her.

“Including a home-schooled-albino-freak going to a real school, knowing it could kill her?” She frowned in shock. “Wow. Okay. T-M-I. I have no idea why I just told you that.”

Koltira smirked and leaned a cheek on a fist. “I can most assuredly say I have never seen a home-schooled albino-freak. But apparently I _have_ seen a home-schooled albino.”

The blush that flooded across her cheeks was a bright scarlet, emphasized by the paleness of her face. “O-oh. Heh. Y-you charmer, you. Heh.”

He grinned and held out a hand. “Koltira. Deathweaver.”

She gingerly took his hand and let him shake it. “Anarchaia. Starling.”

A blond boy spun around and flashed a charming smile at her. “And I’m Gildwynn Steamvolt. So nice to meet you. And may I say that you have the most beautiful skin I’ve ever seen?”

Koltira balled a fist as he stared pointedly at Gildwynn’s expensive haircut, manicured fingers, and designer clothes. The boy merely winked at the distraught Deathweaver. 

“If you ever need a ride anywhere, and I mean _anywhere_ , I’ve got you covered. If you have your own wheels, I can do any fixes you might need.”

The girl beside him spun to include herself in the conversation. “And if you got a hole, he can _fill_ all your needs.” She flicked her crooked auburn pony tail over her shoulder and laughed. 

Anarchaia eyed the girl, who’d done her makeup in bright red, her lips lined black and filled in red beneath a septum piercing, which a black half-hoop with spiked tips hug from. Her shorts were cut-offs that matched her black jean half-jacket over her red racerback, her belts a series of different sized chains hitting her torn fishnets. Under the desk were her knee-high boots with thick soles and spikes on the toes. 

“Damn it, Aub!” Gildwynn shoved her hard enough to knock her seat over and dump her onto the floor. “Just butt outta my business.”

Aubyne laughed from the floor. “Virgin.”

Gildwynn spun around, ears a fiery red, and folded his arms. He glared up at the dry-erase board as Aubyne returned to her seat.

Anarchaia pursed her lips, feeling personally embarrassed for the boy. “Hi, Gildwynn. It’s really nice to meet you.”

He cocked an eyebrow over his shoulder at her. “Thanks.” 

Mr. Stormrage stood, putting up his hands for quiet. “Look at the person beside you. This is your lab partner for this semester.”

Grimory raised his hand. “I don’t have a partner?”

The teacher checked his notes. “Ah, right. Your partner will be in this class tomorrow. I guess there was a schedule mixup that’s being resolved. Now! P.P.E. Who can tell me what it is?”

Anarchaia raised her hand. “Personal Protective Equipment. It’s for lab experiments and you wear it…to… Heh.” She cringed as everyone looked at her. “I-it’s pretty self-explanatory, I guess. Heh.”

“Very good, Anarchaia,” Mr. Stormrage said. “Class, please welcome Miss Anarchaia Starling to the school. I hope you’ll all help her out if she looks a little lost.”

The girl shrunk in her seat as all eyes turned on her again, sizing her up and judging just how helpful to be. When everyone’s attention was turned away, Koltira leaned closer to speak to her quietly as Mr. Stormrage continued to teach them lab safety and rules. 

“So, is that, like, your deepest, darkest secret?”

“Being albino isn’t a secret. It’s kind of obvious,” she hissed on a laugh. 

He chuckled. “No, I mean, it killing you.”

She turned to give him a small smile, half cut off from her hood. “I suppose it is. Facing my fear of dying to sunlight exposure, just so I can feel like a real kid like in the movies.” Her eyes widened. “Wow, okay. I guess you’re getting my whole life’s stories, here?”

Koltira smiled and leaned closer. “That’s okay. We all have secrets.”

“Even football players?” She motioned at his letterman’s jacket.

“Yeah. That. I, um, actually hate football. I joined to help keep my brother safe.” He blinked and stared ahead at where the teacher was writing a list on the board. “I’ve never told a living soul that. Sorry.”

She laughed into her glove as she copied the list into her notebook. “I guess the over-sharing is contagious.”

“Well, since I’m already infected, might as well just roll with it.”

“Deathweaver! Starling!”

“Sorry, Mr. Stormrage,” Koltira said, laughing.

Anarchaia bit her lower lip and shook with silent giggles.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“We have a game coming up against Argus High School,” Coach Stormrage was saying before practice after school. “They’ve upped their game and so I can say, without a doubt, that you are not prepared.”

“Oh, God,” Thassarian mumbled behind Koltira’s head, “Rot-see Nazis.”

Those around the tight end turned their heads to watch the JROTC unit in full dress uniform march onto the field, led by a stern-faced black haired girl. 

“And there’s Hitler,” Koltira said, chuckling. 

Mograine, the quarterback, pushed a shoulder into Koltira to make him pay attention to the coach. “She’s outta your league, Deathweaver.”

“Thank God for that. I hear she’s a total bitch.”

“Deathweaver,” Coach Stormrage boomed, “why don’t you start the play I was just explaining, since you seem to know it so well?”

Koltira swallowed. “Sorry, coach. I’ll pay attention.”

“Anymore talking and you’re doing laps. Understood?”

“Yes, coach.”

Practice was soon in full swing, the team split into groups to work on specific things. Grimory and Koltira had been moved aside to work on their throws. After Grimory threw a hard pass into Koltira’s gut, the latter told the first to go long. When he threw the ball, it flew higher than he’d expected, soaring over the track ring and straight at the JROTC cadets. He watched in horrified excitement, unsure if he should feel terrible or laugh as it looked to be zooming toward the drill cadet.

“Oh, shit, Hitler,” Grimory said, laughing. 

Without a falter in her steps, or even a hint at noticing the ball, the cadet reached up and caught the ball as it slid neatly into her palms. She continued pacing in front of the others and barking orders, the ball tucked under her arm as though it hadn’t just happened.

Green eyes wide, Grimory approached her. “Excuse me—”

“Left face. About face,” she shouted over him.

“Hey, can I have my ball?”

“Front face. Salute. Douchebag salute.” 

A few cadets giggled and they all enthusiastically gave the salute their lead drill cadet never gave, though it had been created by the whole troupe. Their fingers by the corners of their eyebrows dropped down, all but one—their middle fingers. Grimory scowled, unamused, at the cadets flipping him off. He glared down at the drill cadet, glancing at the shining name plaque pinned to her dark green jacket, just over her left breast.

“Look, Redblade, it was an accident. Can I have the ball back?”

She said nothing, her blank expression causing him minor unease. 

“Dude, seriously.”

“Earn it back,” she said.

“How?”

“Drop and give me twenty.”

“What?” Grimory demanded. 

“Push-ups. Double-time.”

“What the fuck does double-time mean?”

She turned to face the troupe. “Company, drop and give me twenty, double time!” She turned her cool gaze on him.

The cadets dropped and counted out their pushups. “One, two, three, ONE! One, two, three, TWO!”

Grimory sneered. “Fuck your double-time.”

“Fuck your ball.”

Grimory grumbled and dropped down, trying to keep up with the quick pace of the cadets.

“AttenTION!” A man barked, stomping out onto the field. 

The cadets, including Redblade, snapped upright and stared straight ahead; Grimory stood, panting like he’d run a mile. 

The man walked right up to Alisbeth and leaned into her face. “I know you’re not teasing the football team, Redblade.”

“No, First Sergeant!”

“You don’t need more strikes, do you, cadet?”

“No, First Sergeant!”

“Return the ball.”

“Right away, First Sergeant Fordring!” She held out the ball, her face stony and the rest of her body motionless. 

“Fucking robot-Hitler,” Grimory grumbled.

First Sergeant Fordring stepped up to Grimory and looked down on him. “What did you just call my drill cadet?”

“Uh…nothing?”

Fordring glowered at him. “Nothing, _First Sergeant._ ”

“Um, nothing, First Sergeant.”

“Detention for lying.”

“What the fuck!”

“Another for swearing.”

“Come on!”

First Sergeant leaned forward to get in Grimory’s face. “I’ll see you after school tomorrow and the next day. Hop to, soldier.”

“Fucking freaks,” he mumbled as he turned and trotted away.

“That’s three days!” Fordring shouted after him. 

Grimory dropped his head back in aggravation, then went to the field to pass the ball back to Koltira. The cadets giggled after him, all but Alisbeth. 

“You giggle-fits want to join meathead in detention?” First Sergeant barked. 

The cadets immediately sobered back into attention. 

“Naz’grim, continue drills. Redblade, my office.”

A stalky boy with dark brown hair took Alisbeth’s place as she marched behind First Sergeant Fordring.

“What was that about?” Koltira laughed as they met up for water. 

“Hitler. She’s a robot, dude. And now I have detention for the next three days.”

“Does she look as good up close?”

“Dude, so hot. Probably something amazing under that uniform. But seriously, duct tape her mouth before bending her over.”

Koltira cringed. “You’re disgusting.”


	4. Chapter 4

In chemistry the next day, Grimory sat in Anarchaia’s chair to chat with Koltira before class started. The timid girl approached and stood back, not wanting to say anything. The blond boy took the hint anyway and returned to where his books were piled in front of his chair. It took him a second to realize there was someone in the seat beside him. He turned to introduce himself, then scowled. 

“Nope!” he shouted, standing up. “Not robot-Hitler. I’m not working with this bitch.”

He pointed down at the girl in the neatly pressed button down with a shining golden cross on a chain under the shirt collar. She wore leather combat boots, black slacks with an ironed seam down the front of the legs, and her glossy black hair was pulled back into a well-contained bun at the nape of her neck. She sat upright, her back straight and her eyes to the front of the class, as though she was unaware of the situation happening right beside her. 

“My brother is already cross that you’re missing several days of practice,” Mr. Stormrage said calmly. “I wonder how he would feel about four days.”

“I’m not working with her! She—”

“Five days?”

Grimory pursed his lips. “That’s— No!”

“I mean, I could send you to see Vice Principal Whisperwind. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about the way you’ve been treating a fellow student—and First Sergeant Fordring.”

Grimory dropped into his seat at the mention of Mrs. Whisperwind. 

“I suppose my wife’s reputation for dealing with intolerance precedes her.” Mr. Stormrage straightened. “Class, this is Alisbeth Redblade. She’s not a new student, but is new to our class. It’s a pleasure to have you in here,” he said to her.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied in a manner just as collected as herself.

“I have a few classes with her. What’s the deal with her?” Anarchaia asked on a whisper.

Koltira leaned closer, catching a whiff of her perfume. It sent a warm flush up his neck, which he struggled to ignore. “She’s a legendary bitch. Completely heartless. I don’t think she even has any friends because nobody can stand her.”

Mr. Stormrage stood in front of the class, shuffling through his notes for the day. “Some people think they’re so sneaky, ducking their heads as though I don’t know that’s the universal body language for two people speaking in whispers,” he said without looking up. “Deathweaver. Starling. It’s been one whole day, can you please pretend you can concentrate through the raging hormones?”

The two turned away from each other, their faces red with embarrassment. After class, Anarchaia rushed to the bathroom to try shaking the embarrassment still fluttering through her limbs. After a minute curled on the seat of the toilet, someone came in, paused to check that the bathroom was empty, then entered the first stall and proceeded to burst into tears. 

Anarchaia flinched and chewed on her bottom lip. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d be late to her next class, but if she did, the person would know she’d been there the whole time, hiding. She clenched her jaw at the awkwardness, steeling herself to run from the bathroom before they could call her out for invading their privacy. She jumped and the crying came to a sudden halt as the door opened and a group of girls came giggling in. 

Anarchaia hopped from the seat and exited the stall. It was a group of girls she knew, and they didn’t like her. 

“Oh, look, it’s the ghost,” one said.

“Heh. Y-yeah. G-ghost.”

“Why do you talk like a st-st-stuttering moron?” another said, laughing. 

“Is it really true the sun leaves nasty blisters on your skin?”

“Why ask, when we can test the theory?”

“Come here, freak!” 

Two girls grabbed her while a third opened the foggy window to let the sunlight shine in on the screaming Anarchaia. The first stall opened and Alisbeth stepped out, her face clean, her makeup neat, and no signs she’d been the one crying. 

“Close the window, Cam.”

“Oh, fuck off, Ali.”

Without giving the girl another chance, Alisbeth strode over, ripped her hand from the window, and closed it. 

“Let Starling go.”

The others didn’t move. 

“I said, _let her go!_ ” Alisbeth’s composed demeanor melted and a fire lit in her eyes. She shoved Cam against the wall and ran at the other two, who released Anarchaia and made for the door. But Alisbeth grabbed them and pulled them back in. “I wonder if I put your hand under the hot water if you’d blister, huh?” She shoved them to the floor and kicked one in the back. “Sucks when someone fights back, doesn’t it?” She dragged the other by the hair into a stall and set their head against the toilet seat, draping their hair into the water. 

As Alisbeth pulled the girl’s hair out of the water and draped it over the girl’s face—who screamed like she was being murdered—Vice Principal Windrunner entered. She dragged Alisbeth off the girl and set her standing beside the terrified Anarchaia. 

“Alisbeth, what are you _doing?_ ”

“They were testing if sunlight would blister Starling. I fought back.” Alisbeth straightened her clothing, re-tucking her shirt and making sure her hair was still in place.

“You’re not supposed to intervene. You’re in anger management, remember?” Mrs. Windrunner asked as she handed paper towels to the whimpering girl doing her best to not vomit over having been covered in toilet water. 

“I was managing my anger just fine. They—”

“Detention.”

“I already have detention.”

The vice principal sighed in exasperation. “More detention.”

“How much more?”

“Three days.”

Alisbeth nodded. “That’s thirty-seven days of detention, now. As usual, I’ll be there.”

“And you,” Mrs. Windrunner turned her cool gaze on Anarchaia, “Are you all right?”

Anarchaia squirmed. “I’m late to class—we… We’re both late to home ec. Cooking. Heh.”

Mrs. Windrunner opened Anarchaia’s notebook to a clean page and wrote an excuse out for both girls. “I’ll be setting up a group session with the counselor for all five of you. You two, get to class. I have to get these girls to the nurse, _Alisbeth._ ”

The girl shrugged casually. “I didn’t make them bleed, at least.”

The vice principal growled. “Yes. There’s that. But you might be looking at suspension. Get to class before you make Miss Starling even later.”

Alisbeth retrieved her books and small makeup case from the bathroom stall and flushed the makeup-smeared tissues, then grabbed Anarchaia by the arm and led her from the bathroom.

“Th-thank you. I think? Ow, you’re hur—”

Alisbeth let go. “Sorry. For all of that.”

“N-no, thank you. Heh. Really, I—”

“You really need to learn to stand up for yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an easy target, Starling. You won’t always have someone like me around to protect you.” Alisbeth didn’t look at the girl, who was staring at the side of her face in shock.

“I’m not the physical ty—” She tripped on the top step.

Alisbeth caught her by the back of her sweater and kept her upright. “I can tell.”

“I-I won’t t-tell anyone y-you were c—”

Alisbeth spun on the girl, who shrunk and backed up until she was pressed into the lockers. “Do you think I care if people know what I was doing in the bathroom?”

“M-maybe?”

“You heard what Silversong called me.”

“R-robot-Hitler?”

Alisbeth nodded. “Sometimes it’s hard to keep the tears in until I get home. I’ve gotten good at letting it out in short bursts.”

“W-why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re not going to tell anyone else, are you?”

Anarchaia frowned as she realized the truth that the other girl probably wouldn’t admit—neither of them had friends and Alisbeth was merely looking for someone to confide in. 

“W-who would I even tell? Heh.”

Alisbeth smirked. “Deathweaver?”

Anarchaia blushed and straightened her books. “Heh. W-we’re l-late for class. Heh.” She slipped around the other girl to enter the room.

Alisbeth smirked at her back. “It’s okay. I think he’s hot, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

When Grimory walked into detention, he groaned loudly. “You gotta be shitting me.”

Alisbeth glanced up at him from her homework, then returned to it. 

“Since you two seem to get along so well,” First Sergeant Fordring said, “why don’t you sit beside Redblade, Silversong.” He looked at his paper. “Hmm. Just the two of you.”

Grimory dropped into the seat and scowled ahead. Several minutes passed in silence, save the scribbling of Alisbeth’s pencil and the clock ticking away over the door. Fordring stood with a sigh, tucking his manila folders and clipboard under an arm. 

“Behave,” he said simply.

“Yes, First Sergeant.” Alisbeth returned to her work.

Grimory waited long enough to know the man was gone. “Yep, I’m out. Enjoy.”

“They’ll kick you off the football team,” she said into her homework.

Grimory stopped, then sat back down. “They will?”

“Ditching detention gives you a one day o-s-s, which results in the loss of your extracurricular privileges which are dictated by grades and good behavior.”

“They would _not_ give me an out of school suspension,” Grimory said. “They have to do in school, first.”

“They don’t _have to_ anything. But by all means, see if I’m lying.” She still didn’t look at him.

After a long time the boy let out a breath. “You’re seriously sure? Not lying to keep me from leaving?”

“I know because I’ve done it. I would like nothing more than for you to walk out that door and leave me alone, but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t warn you?” She gave him a long look, then returnd to her math.

It took several more minutes for Grimory to speak. “I’ve got four days, thanks to you. How long are you in for?”

“Thirty-seven days. I just earned three more this morning.”

His eyes widened. “ _How?_ ”

“I stopped an attack on the new girl. You can stop talking to me, now.” She said all of this with her face away from him as she did her math. 

“No. That’s not enough detail. How did you get detention for stopping a bully?” He waved to get her attention, but she ignored him. “Seriously, you have to tell me. Alisbeth—” He reached out to grab her bicep.

Alisbeth spun and slapped his cheek. “Don’t you dare touch me or use my name. Stick with your cruel pet name, you shallow piece of useless jockstrap.” She kept her lips pursed at him for a moment longer as he stared at her in shock, then she turned back to her work.

“I can report you for hitting me.”

Her eyes went wide and doe-like. “I’m so sorry, Principal Kalecgos. It was a knee jerk reaction to him groping my breast!”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

They stared each other down for a painfully long time before Grimory folded his arms and growled. He turned away from her and set his eyes to staring at the clock as the second hand clicked around the white face, counting out every moment of his imprisonment.

Grimory found Koltira on the field as he joined practice late, and told him every grueling detail. But Koltira was only barely listening, as a soft piano played in his mind. On his way to practice, he’d heard the sweetest tune playing from the choir room, which doubled for the piano lab room. He’d peeked inside to see the white hair draped over the back of the red hoodie. Her gloves were off, revealing long, narrow fingers that—because of their paleness—nearly looked like bones tapping over the keys. He’d listened only a little longer before running to practice.

“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Grimory demanded.

Koltira thought about lying, but decided not to. “Not even slightly, man. You seriously complain way too much for someone who doesn’t like her.”

“It’s _because_ I don’t like her.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.”


	6. Chapter 6

Koltira blinked up at the mansion as he got out of his car. His mind kept telling him that he’d made a wrong turn, but the address paper in his hand matched. He slung his bag over his shoulder and approached, suddenly feeling like his torn jeans and battered shoes were even worse off. He pressed the doorbell and waited as a little tune chimed out. A woman answered the door and smiled.

“Mr. Deathweaver, I presume?”

“Koltira, yeah.”

“I was told to expect you.” She opened the door wider for him to enter.

Inside, the house was even nicer and he pulled his elbows in and wrapped both fists around the strap of his bag to keep from touching anything. She led him down a dark hallway with dimmed lights and knocked on the only door along the entire length. After a few bumps and an exclamation of pain, the door opened just enough to let Anarchaia’s pale face pop into view.

“Kolt! Hi!”

The woman gave the girl a smirk. “You should’ve let me clean your room.”

“Eh-heh.” She batted dismissively at the air. “It’s fine, Mrs. Leavy. I…cleaned it myself. Eh-heh.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Anarchaia grabbed Koltira’s hand and dragged him into the room, then shut the housekeeper out. Koltira blinked, first, at the size of her room. It was several times the size of his own, with a massive walk-in closet and her own bathroom. There was even a small kitchen area with a mini fridge in one corner. Not far from that was a grand piano. Bookshelves lined most of the walls, every shelf filled. There wasn’t a single window in sight.

“Wow. What’d they do, adapt a small ballroom into a bedroom?” Koltira joked, chuckling nervously.

“They did.”

He blinked, trying to process the information. “They…did…”

After a moment, she laughed. “No! It was custom built. I never have to leave my room this way.”

He followed her to her loft bed, where underneath was a reading nook created by several short bookshelves surrounding a giant beanbag chair. She lifted a pair of sweatpants from it and laughed nervously as she tossed them across the room, where they hit the wall and landed beside an over-full hamper.

“You, uh, sure cleaned up nicely,” he joked. “I bet it was a _real_ mess before.” His eyes found the rest of the messes spread around the room, telling him that not only hadn’t she cleaned up for him, but she hadn’t cleaned at all in a while—except for her dishes, which sat neatly in the rack at the small sink.

The tips of Anarchaia’s ears turned red as she blushed and turned away. “Heh. Well, I mean, I did pick up a lot of clothes.”

“If I had this amount of dirty clothes, I’d only have what I’m wearing leftover.”

She pushed a knuckle against the bridge of her glasses and tucked a clump of hair behind her ear as she observed him. “You look as uncomfortable as I do at school…”

“Your house is huge.”

“It’s just a house.”

“You might as well live in a castle.” He pursed his lips and looked around the room again. “You don’t have a T.V.”

“That’s in the other ballroom,” she said.

He paused for a second, then broke down laughing with her. “Okay, okay, fine.”

She dropped onto the beanbag, leaving enough room beside her for him to sit. “Did you bring your notes?” She pulled open her messenger bag and took out her own notebook.

“Of course I did.” He sat beside her, feeling at the same time nervous, but also relaxed by her presence. “So,” he began as they each flipped to the proper pages, “how have you liked your first month of public school?”

She bit her lip and smiled. “It’s honestly…mixed. There are so many people, and some of them are really mean. But…”

“But?” he prodded, smirking at her.

“But I get to see you every day.”

“Oh.” Koltira cleared his throat and searched quickly for his section of notes, nearly tearing pages from the spiral. “I, uh, like seeing you every day, too.”

“Okay, so, I was thinking we could do a volcano—”

“No. Everyone does a volcano. I was thinking something way cooler. Ever heard of the Briggs-Rauscher reaction?”

Her fingertips flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. “I have. Where did you hear about it?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an idiot. It doesn’t seem difficult, we just need to get our hands on a few questionable substances.” He held up a hand to tick each one off on his fingers. “Potassium iodate, malonic acid, magnese…sul…fate… What?” He blinked as Anarchaia bit her bottom lip and leaned close enough to press herself against his side.

“Oh, no, keep talking.”

“Uh… M-magnese sulfate monohy…drate— Why are you looking at me like that?”

She pulled herself back just a little, her eyes staring at his lips. “You pronounced those perfectly.”

“I’m…not an idiot?”

A blush spread across her cheeks. “I just think it’s…nice when you talk like that.”

“ _Nice?_ ”

“Mm-hmm. Sorry, I just… I’m an idiot. Heh. Ignore m—”

Koltira took her cheek in one hand and wrapped his other palm around her waist as he pressed his lips onto hers. “Well, I think you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Anarchaia pressed back into him, kissing him back. Their notebooks slowly slid from their laps as they shifted to face each other and get more comfortable. He pulled her onto his lap to straddle his legs, running his palms beneath her shirt and across her warm skin. She slipped her hands beneath his shirt and splayed her fingers wide over his abdomen. They were so wrapped up in each other as the long minutes passed, that neither heard the first knock. At the second one, the girl gasped and rolled back, grabbing their notebooks. She shoved Koltira’s to him and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Come in!”

An older man with salt and pepper hair in an expensive suit stepped in and smiled at her, though raised a curious eyebrow at the boy beside her. “Ana, still studying?” He approached and directed another gaze to Koltira.

“Yep! We’re doing a Briggs-Rauscher reaction experiment. Would it be okay for us to practice in here? After we get the chemicals, of course.” She smiled charmingly at him.

“I’ll get you what you need.” He held out his hand, then looked directly at Koltira. “Khadgar—”

“I know who you are, sir. It’s…an honor.” He shook the man’s hand, trying to keep his eyes from going wide in shock. “Ana didn’t tell me who her dad was.” He decided to remain seated to avoid the even more awkward moment that would happen should any attention be brought to his jeans.

“Adoptive, but yes,” Anarchaia said. She blushed when the man sent a patient smile her way. “Heh. Sorry.”

“No reason to apologize for the truth. Would you like to stay for dinner, Mr. Deathweaver?”

“I actually can’t. Any other night, sure, but it’s my mom’s birthday…”

“Ah. Well, another time, maybe. Continue studying, then.”

“I-it was nice meeting you, sir.”

Khadgar said nothing as he left the room. Koltira let out a long breath and stared at Anarchaia. “You didn’t tell me your dad was the _mayor!_ ”

“Adoptive dad.”

“That doesn’t matter! Oh my god, I just met the fucking mayor? He hates me.”

Anarchaia giggled into her fingertips. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“Look at me! What’s not to hate?”

She bit her bottom lip and leaned closer to set a quick peck on his lips. “He doesn’t hate you. But…we should probably do some actual work, now.”

He chuckled and kissed her one last time. “I’ll let you say the scientific terms this time.”

“You, mister, have a deal.”


	7. Chapter 7

Grimory turned onto the long dirt road leading to his family’s farm. He slowed his beat up pickup to a crawl as a white Mustang came into view, a woman beside it, her cell phone held high in the air. He pulled up alongside her and pursed his lips—Alisbeth returned the expression. He leaned across the bench seat to roll the window down.

“Problem?”

“I’ve got a flat,” she said.

Grimory put his truck in park and slid over to look out the window. “Well, would you look at that. I can, uh—”

“I have Triple A.” She turned her back on him and lifted her phone into the air again.

With a roll of his eyes, Grimory got out and plucked her phone from her fingers. “What good is Triple A when you can’t call them? No service out here. Where’s your spare?”

She pursed her lips at him. “Trunk.”

“Pop it?”

She glared at him a bit longer, then scoffed and went to the back of the car with him in tow. “You can change my tire, but then I’m leaving.”

He cringed in at the tire. “No. I’m not letting you drive on the highway with this donut. I’ll change the tire, you follow me to my dad’s shop, and I’ll fix the flat. Save you some money, too.”

“The money isn’t my concern.”

He worked to get the car jacked up and eyed her as he freed the bolts. “What’re you doing way out here, anyway?”

“You were supposed to come over this morning. For the project?”

“I told you, Saturdays don’t work for me.”

Her nostrils flared angrily. “And I told you that Saturday is the only day that works for me. What is more important than our project, hmm?”

The boy jerked a thumb at the bed of his truck. “Farmer’s Market. Had to get a few things.”

She eyed the full bed and let out and annoyed breath. “A few. That couldn’t wait?”

“No, princess, it couldn’t.”

Once the spare was on, Grimory turned the flat to look over the tread. “Yep. Ran over a nail.”

“I doubt you can fix—”

“It’s really common on this road. So, yes, I got patch kits. Quit being stubborn.” He shoved the tire into his passenger seat so she couldn’t turn around and leave.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

Once her car was back down on all fours, she climbed in and waited for him to take the lead. She parked behind him and got out, her eyes taking in the barn, the workshop, and the house.

“Parents home?” she asked, almost as a precaution.

“Dad’s out, mom’s sick.”

“Flu?”

Grimory stopped as he lowered the tail gate. He stared at the stacks of sacks as his jaw worked behind his skin. “No.”

“Oh. I’m…sorry.” They stood in an awkward silence as he avoided looking at her. “Um, how much for the fix? I have a little cash on me.”

He straightened, set his face in his usual, uncaring manner, and smirked at her. “How about labor for labor?”

“Excuse me?”

“Empty my truck and I’ll fix your tire.” He gently eased her keys from her hand as she eyed everything in the bed of his truck.

“Fine.” She grabbed a sack and brought it forward, then pulled another to her.

“Be careful, those are…fifty…” Grimory watched in a sort of astonishment as she slung a sack over each shoulder and turned to him, “…pounds…”

“Where do you want them?”

“Uh, barn. First stall on the right.”

She strode to the barn as though carrying hardly any weight at all, Grimory stared after her for a moment longer, then dropped into the driver seat of the Mustang. He pulled the car into the shop, then went to the wide door to watch her clear out the rest of the items. A strange sort of awe stirred in him to see that kind of strength in her.

As Alisbeth turned, dusting herself off, he turned away, pretending to have been occupied with something else the whole time.

“I know you were watching me,” she said, following him into the workshop.

“It’s nice watching someone else do my chores. What of it?”

“Have you ever tried not being an asshole all the time?”

Grimory frowned, then turned a smirk over his shoulder at her. “Naw. I’m too good at it.” His frown returned once he was facing away from her again.

He took a breath and removed his shirt, then set to work fixing the flat. Alisbeth stood back, her eyes scanning over the muscles rippling beneath his skin. By the time he was finished and the tire back on the car, she was biting the inside of her cheek. He moved the car back outside and returned; she forced herself to look away.

“So, uh…interesting taste in music,” he said. “Took you for classical.”

“Classical is too calm. It’s infuriating.”

“So, you listen to metal to relax?”

She realized she’d slid in close to him, smelling his sweat and musk so close. She blinked and nodded. “I like Korn.” She slid just a little closer, her eyes on his lips.

“Ali?”

Her eyes slid up the glistening skin of his cheeks to meet his green eyes. “Yeah?”

Instead of saying something, he leaned down to meet her lips with his own. His palm cupped her jaw as the kiss became heated and desperate. His other hand slid down to grab her rear and pull her closer. Suddenly she turned her head to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m… I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Then why are you gripping my belt buckle?”

Alisbeth looked down and told her hands to let go, but they didn’t. Instead she looked back up at him and pressed back into the passionate kissing. He lifted her onto the work table and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands worked to unbutton her blouse, then reached in to run his palms along the soft skin of her abdomen.

“Wait. Wait.” She pushed his hands away and blushed. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

Grimory guessed right there of her virginity and set a gentle palm on her thigh. “Do you want me to stop?”

She bit into her bottom lip and met his gaze, then shook her head.

“Just let me know when, yeah?”

She nodded as he pressed his lips back against hers. One hand slid back into her shirt to set on her waist.

“Now?”

“No,” she whispered.

The hand in her shirt slid around to settle over the cup of her bra. “Now?”

She took a breath. “No.”

His other hand slid up her thigh, then paused just before reaching the area between her legs. “Now?”

She thought on it, then shook her head. “No.”

Both of his hands dragged her forward to push the area between her legs against the firmness in his jeans. Alisbeth gasped and pulled back.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I-I’m sorry. I have to…” She shoved against him. Pushing him out of her way. “I have to go.” She grabbed her keys and ran to her car as she buttoned up her blouse.

“Wait, Ali!” He chased her to the door. “You don’t have to go!”

“I do. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Her music shot to dangerous volumes just before she put the car in gear and peeled out toward the highway.

Grimory ran his hands through his hair and let out a breath, hating himself for being so terrible to her. “She’s just a piece of ass,” he tried to assure himself.

But it was more than that, now. She’d grown on him. And damn if he hadn’t felt something when they kissed. He stared at the dust rising at her retreat until it settled back down, as though maybe she’d come back. But she didn’t. The next dust cloud that came his way was his father’s, who stopped and looked him over, greasy and standing in the doorway, staring off into the distance.

“Son.”

“Dad.” He forced himself to stop watching the road to regard the man he’d know as his father for most of his life. “How’d it go?”

“Went good. Came back for the trailer. You up for helping? Or did you want to keep staring ruefully at the horizon like your favorite kite just flew away?” He chuckled and smirked.

Grimory let his smile slide shyly up one corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Just let me get my shirt.”


	8. Chapter 8

Grimory knocked on the door of the large house, trying to hold back his astonishment over the size. A wiry boy he recognized as being a year ahead of him opened the door. The boy’s odd lavender eyes looked him over, bugged wide, then averted quickly.

“C-can I help you?”

Grimory’s brow furrowed. “Did…I get the right house? I’m looking for Alisbeth.”

“Sh-she’s not here right now.”

A blonde with a shirt that could barely contain her ample cleavage shoved the boy aside and smiled flirtatiously up at Grimory. “You’re more than welcome to wait for her. I could always use the company.”

The boy sneered. “Kel’ori, that’s gross.”

“When will she be back?” Grimory blurted.

“Not for hours,” the boy said. “She spends weekends at her house.” He wrote out the address on a small paper and handed it over.

Grimory raised a curious eyebrow, but was growing uncomfortable under Kel’ori’s gaze. “Thanks, um…”

“Taveth,” he mumbled, then looked quickly away when the football player smiled at him.

“Thank you.” He pursed his lips in a tight smile at the older girl. “And you.” Grimory left before anything more could be said.

He drove across town, double checking that his GPS was taking him to the same address as was on the paper as it led him into the rich district. When he reached the address, he stopped and checked again that it was correct, then circled the block to make sure it was the right street and the right house. Nerves and awe kept him in his beat up pickup parked on the street in front of the three-story mansion. He got out and went to the front door, feeling more underdressed than he ever had in his life. He paused to listen as music blared from the back yard. He rang the bell and the music shut off suddenly.

“Look up,” Alisbeth’s voice came breathlessly through an intercom by the door.

He looked up until he found a small camera pointed down at him.

“What do you want? I told you I’m busy.”

“I wanted to— Can we please talk face-to-face?”

There was a long pause before she replied. “Hang on.” When the door opened minutes later she was in a baggy T-shirt and leggings that left little to the imagination; her feet were bare and her hair was up in its usual tight bun. Her face had been hastily wiped of sweat and she was still catching her breath. “Say it and leave.”

“Parents don’t like boys over?” he smirked down at her, leaning in just enough to see white sheets over all the furniture in the main room.

“How did you get this address?”

“Uhh, that weird library aid at your…other house.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Taveth isn’t weird. Don’t be an assho— Oops, forgot who I’m talking to.” She turned, but left the door open as she walked away.

Grimory followed her into the kitchen and sighed as she poured a glass of filtered water. “Look, I’m sorry. About the project.”

She took a long drink, her eyes shifted to stare at him from the corners. “And?”

“And that’s it. Was there something else I— Are you moving?” He motioned at the white sheets over the furniture.

“No.” She set her glass on the counter and leaned back. “Figured you’d apologize for trying to add me to your tally.”

His gaze snapped to her and he straightened. “First of all, you started that yourself. Secondly, I’m not apologizing for that. Ever. It was…nice.” He looked around again as she stared at her feet and blushed. “So…where _do_ you live?” He went to the sliding glass door to look out at another building the size of a small house; mirrors were the only thing visible through the windows.

“I live with my cousins. For now. Until my birthday.”

“When’s your birthday?”

She cleared her throat and finished her water, then set the glass in the sink. “So, since you’re here did you want to work on the project?”

“You didn’t already do it without me?”

She narrowed her eyes and pulled a box from under the sink. “I was going to in a few minutes, actually.”

“After you got done with your…Crossfit?” He smirked and joined her at the island counter.

“I was cleaning,” she said, not looking at him.

“It’s easier to lie when the tops of your ears don’t turn pink,” he said, setting up the test tubes.

“They do not,” she scoffed, but absently reached up as though she could feel the color of one.

They were busy with their project when Grimory’s phone went off, vibrating on the counter.

Alisbeth glanced over. “Your boyfriend must think you’re cheating, spending all this time around me.”

Instead of responding, he gave her a bored look, then grabbed his phone.

‘Koltira’ >>Odd neighborhood for you to be in.<<

‘Grimory’ >>Fuck off, stalker.<<

‘Koltira’ >>Your truck is across the street from the mayor’s house, dick.<<

‘Grimory’ >>How do you know any of this? You at the mayor’s house getting lucky?<<

‘Koltira’ >>…You could say that.<<

‘Koltira’ >>Omw.<<

‘Grimory’ >>Wait. What? No! Fuck off.<<

Ten minutes later the bell rang and Grimory gave Alisbeth a nervous grin. “It’s Koltira. He saw my truck. I told him to fuck off…”

She didn’t say anything, just held his gaze.

“I’ll go tell him again.” When he opened the door, he found Koltira next to a short figure covered head-to-toe—including their face—in black cloth, a black lacy parasol was clutched in their gloved hands. “I told you to—”

“I’ve always wanted to see inside this house!” the covered figure squealed.

Grimory stared for a long time. “What is it?” he asked, pointing at the girl under the parasol.

“It…” she repeated blandly.

“Oh, shit,” Alisbeth said from inside the house. “Get her inside, assholes.” She went about shutting the blinds and curtains of the main room. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

Anarchaia pulled off her mask and took her glasses out of the front pocket of her sweater. “Ice water is fine.”

“Any beer?” Koltira asked. His eyes widened as Alisbeth glared at him. “It was a joke?”

“Okay, you two can leave, she can stay. Bye.”

Anarchaia smiled shyly up at Koltira. “I’d…rather he stayed…heh.” She took a drink of water and looked at the sheets on the furniture. “Moving?”

Alisbeth’s eyelids lowered and raised slowly in a bland blink. “No.”

“Parents out of town? We should have a party,” Koltira said.

“No.”

Anarchaia smiled nervously. “I’ve never been to a party before.”

“Aw, come on, you hear that?” Koltira prodded. “ _Never_ been to a party! I mean, that’s just sad.”

Grimory smirked and took the cue. “Seriously, can’t let someone graduate without having at least one party.”

“Don’t you fucking—” Alisbeth growled and slapped her palms on the counter. “Ana…do you…want to have a party?”

The boys gave each other triumphant grins over Anarchaia’s white hair.

The girl’s blue eyes went wide. “I’d love to! Heh. I mean. I-if that’s okay…”

Alisbeth clenched her jaw repeatedly as she thought. “I’ve never been to a party, either. I…guess we can have one. Just a small one, okay?”

“Beer?” Koltira asked hopefully.

“I’ll call my cousin.”


End file.
